


Displacement

by Tired_Introvert



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Accidentally going for a dip in the pond, Ambiguous House Choice, Fantasizing, Fishing, Injury Recovery, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Pre-Timeskip Spoilers, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-08-13 18:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20178790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tired_Introvert/pseuds/Tired_Introvert
Summary: Linhardt is fascinated by Byleth because of his rare crest.Well, that’s what he keeps telling himself anyway.





	1. The One that Got Away

**Author's Note:**

> Displacement: A psychological term for the defense mechanism in which a person substitutes their original feelings or desires, for ones that are less dangerous or more socially acceptable.

Linhardt stared at the sketch in front of him, tracing curved lines with his fingertips. The Crest of Flames. A crest once lost for a thousand years now stared back at him.

“Truly fascinating,” he mumbled, willing the drawing to speak to him, to share its secrets, explain its long absence and sudden appearance. He was lucky that it manifested on someone he knew, his own professor. In theory, Linhardt could study the crest to his heart’s content, with his professor’s permission of course. That was the rub though, getting his permission. 

Professor Byleth was so… unreadable. He rarely smiled and he never yelled. He was always so eager to help but at the same time expressionless and closed off. ‘Even-tempered’ didn’t cut it; this man didn’t seem to feel any sort of emotions. Linhardt would have assumed the professor hated his students, if it wasn’t for how hard he worked to help them succeed. 

Linhardt shook his head. He liked to believe he could read most people, their dreams and ambitions. As someone who had spent much of his life around type A personalities, he had learned that all of them scratched, clawed, manipulated, and fought for something. Be it a title, person, power, or respect, everyone had some endgame in mind. If he understood exactly what they wanted from him he could give them the minimum they required and take the extra time and energy to nap or research. But his professor was completely different. He didn’t seem to have any ambitions or goals for his life. Much like himself, Linhardt thought wryly. People always assumed he didn’t have any interests, that he was lazy, he lacked motivation and had no direction because he preferred to spend his free time sleeping. But that wasn’t the case. Just because he didn’t go about accomplishing his objectives in the same way as others didn’t make his any less important. Perhaps the professor was the same way. But even if that were the case, Linhardt still had no idea how to convince him to let him research his crest. 

He needed some fresh air to think. Night had already fallen upon the monastery, and with it unique breeds of fish began to stir. Perhaps a few casts would relax him and help him clear his mind. He could always continue his research when he got back. 

The night was silent. Peaceful. Linhardt smiled, this was his favorite time; when any person with a normal sleep schedule would be in bed, he was awake and focused. He made his way down the path from the dormitory, making sure to avoid the patrolling guards. He wasn’t technically doing anything wrong, but he didn’t feel like talking to them, and it’s not like they were hard to spot. Their armor clicked constantly as they walked, ensuring that anyone with a working pair of ears could ascertain their location fairly easily.

A tiny sliver of moonlight reflected off the glassy water of the Garreg Mach pond. Such a perfect beautiful night. Linhardt was not one to give much thought to aesthetics or beauty, but watching the light ripple and dance across the surface was truly a sight to see. He grabbed his pole and tackle from the shack and made his way to the end of the dock, sitting to ground himself as he watched the inky blackness ebb and flow, lapping at the stone enclosing the pond.

There was just enough light to see the lure in front of him as he tied it to the fishing line. The lure was small and shiny, made to resemble a small fish and catch the eye of a carnivore at night. Most of the predatory fish in this pond were nocturnal, hunting their prey while they slept. He turned over the lure in his hand, pulling the string to test his knots. They would hold. Linhardt leaned back, stretching out his legs as he tried to make himself comfortable on the wooden timbers of the dock. He closed his eyes trying to will himself to relax, letting all the stress of the day flow out of him. He sighed, nighttime was so peaceful. Nobody to interrupt his research, or demand he go to class, or force responsibility on him. With night came freedom. Linhardt smiled thoughtfully, opening his eyes as he cast the lure letting it sink slightly before beginning to reel in short jerky movements. If there was a hungry fish in the pond, it surely would take the bait within a few casts. Once the lure returned to him he cast it again, watching as it flew through the air and landed in the middle of the pond. He leaned back, beginning to reel in the bait again, relaxing into the repetitive motion. 

After some time he was pulled from his trance by a loud creaking of timbers. He spun around, quickly examining the night for the cause of the sound. A figure about the same height as himself stood at the edge of the dock. 

“Sorry.” It said, looking past him and staring at the shimmering pond. 

“Professor?” Linhardt asked, surprised, “What are you doing here at this time of night?” 

“Just exploring,” Byleth replied simply, walking up beside Linhardt, the boards creaking under his steps, “Catch anything?” 

“No professor,” he replied, composing himself and following Byleth’s gaze to the water, “but for me it’s not really about if I catch the fish or not… Fishing is calming. It’s the process I enjoy, not necessarily the result.” He finished, pulling in the silver lure and releasing it to the far side of the water.

“Hmm,” Byleth hummed in thought, “Do you mind?” He asked, gesturing to the area of the dock beside Linhardt. 

“Go ahead,” he smiled, scooting over to give him more room before beginning to reel in the line. They sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the whirl of the reel fill the silence between them. Linhardt let his mind wonder to his study of crests, their mysteries, the unknowns,

“I suppose I enjoy fishing because it’s like research.” Linhardt smiled at the realization.

“How so?” Byleth asked, giving him a quizzical look. Linhardt thought for a minute trying to tie his thoughts together in a bow of words. The lure danced through the water for a few more yards, before he responded,

“There’s a body of water, like the body of knowledge in crest research, something you can pull data from. You can run tests and do experiments using various baits to reel in a new discovery.” Linhardt explained watching a ripple form on the surface of the pond.

“And,” Byleth added, “you are never quite sure of what result you will get. You may catch the same type of fish 10 times and then on the 11th cast you get a completely unexpected result.” 

“Exactly,” Linhardt sighed contentedly, letting the conversation lapse a comfortable silence before commenting, “it’s so rare to find something that is relaxing as well as fascinating.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Byleth said, eyeing Linhardt thoughtfully, “You Just have to know where to look.”

The two were interrupted by the sound of heavy footfalls on stone and the clink of plates scraping each other. The guards, Linhardt thought. He had been fishing for a while and now he was out past curfew. If he was caught they would escort him back to his room. But this night was perfect for fishing and he would regret having to cut this excursion short. And now he also had to contend with his professor. If Linhardt got him in trouble he would never trust him to study his crest. He turned to peer into the direction of the footsteps, seeing the orange glow of a lantern illuminating the form of two armor-clad guards. They appeared to have not noticed the pair yet. He knew he would normally just go back to fishing, and if they decided to stop him then so be it. But in this situation with his professor, he was at a loss. He glanced at Byleth who had turned to stare intently at the approaching guards. What Linhardt didn’t expect, and couldn’t have predicted, was the sharp tug he felt on the fishing line before the cold water surrounded him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone who did their upper level Sociological Theory final project on sleep (because the theorists we were studying made me want to curl up on my futon and take a nap) I personally really relate to Linhardt as a character. Not that my username is any indication...


	2. Chapter 2

The next thing Linhardt knew, he was coughing up pond water with three individuals looking down at him with worried expressions. He didn’t remember hitting the water. He was fishing and… wait, weren’t there guards? 

Linhardt blinked forcefully, trying to get his eyes to focus on the shapes standing over him as he tried to catch his breath.

“Are you alright?” He heard a gruff voice ask. That voice didn’t belong to Byleth. Damn, he must have been caught by the guards. Linhardt tried to answer his question, but all that came out was another round of wet coughing. 

“We could carry him to the infirmary?” The second guard suggested as she looked towards the professor.

“Don’t move him.” Byleth ordered, causing the first guard to flinch in surprise. That was a new tone, Linhardt thought to himself. It sounded forceful, powerful… and worried? Why was he worried? Linhardt let his foggy eyes wander to the professor who appeared to be staring at him intently. He _ was _ staring at him intently. His eyes felt like they were boring into him and Linhardt could only match them with his own confused expression. Why was he so close? His professor was sitting beside him with the guards standing near his feet looking concerned. The guards. Of course they caught him. Well, he did fall in the pond. That was probably quite loud. Ugh, his professor would never forgive him for getting them in trouble.

Linhardt blinked, letting his eyes focus on the trio surrounding him. The male guard was fidgeting with his armor, pulling at his gauntlets and avoiding eye contact while his partner stood with her arms crossed staring at Byleth with an anxious expression. 

“I’ll make sure he gets back to his room safely,” Byleth said glancing at the guards, “you can go back to your post.” 

“Sir we—“

“C’mon Dave, you really wanna deal with a kid almost drowning on our watch?” The second guard asked, turning to look at her partner, 

“Let the professor handle this.”

“Stace, our job is to—“ he tried again glancing from Byleth to Linhardt.

“Protect the monastery,” she cut in, “that’s our job. So let’s go back to our route and _ do _ our job.”

“Professor?” Linhardt asked, causing the three to look down at him. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. He was sorry for causing a problem. He was sorry Byleth had to deal with the guards. He was wondering why his professor's hair was dripping wet. 

“He’s my student, let me.” Byleth said quietly, sounding less like an order and more like a request. 

“Okey-dokey. Dave let’s go,” Stace said, grabbing her partner by the arm and hauling him away from the pair, “it’s not our problem, man.” she added quietly when they were a few feet away. Linhardt watched them as they walked away, the glow of their lantern fading as they turned a corner. The pair sat there for a few minutes, the lapping of the waves the only sound to break the silence. Though, they now felt slightly more ominous given what Linhardt just experienced. He sighed,

“I’m sorry professor.”

Byleth shook his head, his normally unreadable expression back on his face. 

“I must have been holding onto that pole pretty tightly,” Linhardt explained, “I probably—“ he stopped, a splitting pain searing into the back of his head, “Ow…” he whimpered raising his hand to touch the spot before flinching back after making contact. Byleth moved to get a better look at the wound, concern flickering in his eyes. Linhardt turned his head to give him better access as gloved fingers threaded through dark green hair. He could feel heat radiating from the spot even through the fabric,

“I should get you to the infirmary,” Byleth muttered to himself, “It's not bleeding though.” 

“That’s good. And it’s not that bad, it’s just…” Confusing, Linhardt thought, closing his eyes as he rubbed his face with his sleeve. He had read that if a person is knocked unconscious they shouldn’t go to sleep, so if at all possible—wait, or was that for a concussion? Being knocked unconscious means he was already asleep. He was knocked asleep? Well, technically sleep is unconsciousness. So he...

Linhardt groaned, either way he didn’t want to go back to his room. The only thing for him to do there was sleep and while he would normally jump at the chance to jump into his bed, he wasn’t really feeling well. Everything was foggy. The adrenaline was wearing off and he felt truly scattered. 

“Do you want to go to the infirmary or your room?” Byleth asked, moving to a couch as he grabbed Linhardt’s forearm to help him up. 

Neither, he wanted to say. He wanted to just sit there with Byleth’s grip on his arm grounding him, an anchor to reality. He yawned involuntarily, looking at the moonlight as it echoed across the pond. You know, a nap at midnight might not be a bad idea.

***

Linhardt groaned as the light from the sun shone directly in his closed eyes. Sleep. Sleep was a wonderful, glowy, fantastic experience. He turned away from the sun, ready to fall back into the sweet embrace of sleep when he felt his lower back crack painfully into place. Oh, this bed was uncomfortable. Much more uncomfortable than the bed in his dorm. Then, where was he? He slowly let his eyes drift open, rubbing them to remove the sleep before yawning. He blinked, he was in the infirmary. How did he get here? He was fishing and Byleth… the professor, was there. Oh, he was pulled in and—Ugh, he wasn’t supposed to sleep after being unconscious and that’s exactly what he did. 

“Oh good,” a high pitched voice announced from across the room, “It’s good to see you awake.” 

Linhardt looked over to see Manuela and the professor walking towards him.

“Minor head trauma, I don’t believe you have a concussion.” She said feeling the student’s forehead, “though, you may have a low-grade fever. Otherwise, you’re fine. Just take it easy,” she laughed, “which should be pretty easy for you Linhardt.”

Byleth shot her a look before turning to face Linhardt,

“How are you feeling?” He asked, his face as unreadable as ever.

“I am quite fine, thank you.” Linhardt replied instinctually before forcing a smile.

“That is good to hear.” Manuela chuckled, “Byleth told me what happened. That had to be one big fish. And you,” she said playfully shaking her finger, “what were you thinking, knocking yourself out and forcing your dear professor to jump in and save you. Oh he’s such a sweet—“

“Manuela…” Byleth sighed, “enough. You would do the same for your students.”

“And ruin my robe? I don’t think so. Your armor may be easily washed but mine…” She trailed off, her attention grabbed by the groan of another patient, “Excuse me.” She said, walking away from the two men. Linhardt sat up, staring at the foot of the bed as he pulled his legs to his torso,

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. He just wanted to clear his head, find out how to convince Byleth to let him study his crest. He didn’t mean to cause him all this grief. 

Linhardt nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt the hand on his shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Byleth said, lightly squeezing his shoulder, “let me know if that changes.”

Linhardt looked up at his professor, staring into the man’s eyes for some explanation. His expression was plain and unreadable as always. He was so honest and caring, and unlike many at the monastery, he could never imagine the man lying or manipulating but he never showed any emotion. He never talked about his feelings or what _ he _ wanted.

Maybe it was his crest.

Linhardt’s eyes widened at the possible solution. He knew some who possessed the Crest of Cethleann also possessed some of her attributes. Maybe the Crest of Flames affected his personality too. If he understood is professor, then maybe he could understand his crest. 

Truly fascinating, he thought smiling to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Chapter 3 will be one of the parts where the E rating comes from.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW

Linhardt spent most of the day in the infirmary. Well, that was until Manuela kicked him out after forcing him to bathe. The infirmary really was the best place to sleep, Linhardt thought as he walked across the stone paths of the monastery. If people thought he was sick they wouldn’t bother him about training or going to class.

It was getting late when he finally made his way back to his dorm. Linhardt smiled looking over towards the pond, no more night fishing for him. Well, for a while. Byleth had informed him that he retrieved his pole and left it by the shack, the lure was nowhere to be found. Manuela was right, Linhardt thought walking up the steps, that had to have been an impressive fish. He unlocked the door to his room, feeling a rush of familiar air breeze past him. Nobody ever talked about the smell of places unless they were talking about something smelling bad: mildew, mold, and other gunk that invaded the nostrils. But there was something about the smell of home. It was an overwhelming feeling of comfort, when one left the outside world behind and returned to safety. Something about claiming a space as his own and knowing that he wouldn’t be interrupted, having someplace that was undecidedly his. The feeling was strong, but it was hard to put into words. 

Linhardt stepped inside, closing the door behind him, humming thoughtfully before he broke into a yawn. A nap might not be a bad idea. He had spent the whole day in the infirmary after all. 

He walked over to his bed, fluffing the pillow while staring into the pale expanse of fabric. Byleth had returned this to him. He had lost it and had come to terms with not sleeping on his favorite pillow, when out of the blue his professor had found it and gave it back to him. He held the soft material to his face, breathing deeply before catching himself. He was being weird. He should stop, he thought as he set the pillow back down on his bed, tracing the weave with his eyes like it would unravel the mysteries of the only person other than himself who had held it. Linhardt sighed, walking up to his armoire, removing a pair of pajama pants and changing into them. Manuela had lent him some patients clothes that he should return, but he knew he would never actually get around to it. He turned, letting his eyes skim over the room. He really had made this place his home, his bubble, his space where he was safe from the horrors of battle and the expectations of others.

He slowly moved to his bed, pushing the sheets to the side as he slipped in, feeling the familiar patterns envelop him. On any normal day he would have fallen asleep instantly, but today he couldn’t. Too much had happened and his body couldn’t relax. Why could he sleep in the infirmary but not his own room? Linhardt groaned, he really needed to sleep, something was happening tomorrow. He didn’t remember what though.

He could always force himself to relax, Linhardt thought, trailing a hand down his stomach and sighing into the touch. How long had it been since he had done this? It had to have been a month, at least. He pushed his pants down to his knees and gently traced the tips of his fingers over his cock. He felt his hips jump and quickly sucked in a breath at the featherlight touch. No, he wasn’t here to tease himself. He needed to get off so he could sleep, he thought as he gripped himself and began stroking.

He wasn’t really one to indulge often, mostly preferring to pursue his research or nap in his free time. And the idea of doing this with someone else… Well, relationships were always so messy and complicated. He saw how much trouble they caused for Sylvain, and Linhardt didn’t particularly like dealing with people to begin with. He, of course, had to in order to study crests, but the people aspect was his least favorite part of his work. They were always so illogical, letting their emotions get in the way of scientific progress. Even his own professor wouldn’t let him study his crest because it ‘invaded his privacy.’ What was the point of privacy if it got in the way of knowledge? He would never understand people. And why did pleasure and relationships have to always be linked? He could touch himself better than anyone else, he knew what felt good and how to quickly bring himself to orgasm... And honestly, this wasn’t it.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been masturbating but he was only slightly hard. Apparently, mentally complaining about people wasn’t going to get him off. He wasn’t Felix. 

Instead, he took a deep breath before digging his thumb into his slit, the pleasure-pain mixture short-circuiting his brain as his whole body jerked at the sensation. 

“Mhmm,” he whimpered, trying to keep his legs spread as his ankles dug into the bed. He closed his eyes letting his brain conjure up enticing images: A figure in front of him, so strong, touching him, pressing him down. Yes. It stroked him roughly teasing his head with its thumb before smearing precum over the shaft. Linhardt whined at the sensation. It had its hand on his sternum, holding him there. He couldn’t move. He could only plead to the figure in his mind: More! More, he needed more, he thought as he pumped himself faster. Its free hand moved to his arm squeezing tightly. It felt real, the pressure felt like an echo of reality. Oh, that was where the professor had grabbed him last night. 

“Such strong hands,” he hummed to himself. He could almost feel the grip on his skin. So grounding, a lifeline in the sea of pleasure the figure was pulling out of him.

“More,” he mumbled, “give me more, please—“ the last word broke into a cry as he remembered Byleth’s fingers threading through his hair. He could feel it, the ghostly afterimage. He was so gentle… But what if he wasn’t? The grip in his hair tightened, the pull against the strands creating such an overwhelming feeling. He dug his fingers into his hair yanking it back and letting his mouth fall open in a breathy gasp. He imagined the figure roughly pulling his hair up, forcing him to look at it. It had morphed into his professor, his normally expressionless face was replaced with one of hunger, of fire. 

_ Touch yourself_, he commanded.

“I am,” Linhardt’s breathed, “Please more. I-I need it…” he begged to the empty room, twisting his wrist as his rhythm became more erratic. He moved his other hand from his hair to his lips, pushing two fingers into his mouth moaning around them as he imagined they belonged to _ him_. He tangled his tongue over the fabric and metal of elegant black gloves, getting them absolutely soaked and loving the feeling as they pressed in hard, forcing his tongue down. 

_ I bet you could cum from just my fingers alone_.

The thought caught him by surprise, sending a sharp spike of arousal through his gut. His fingers slipping from his mouth to tangle into the sheets as his orgasm tore through him.

“Byleth please!” He cried as ropes of white spurted across his chest.

“Yes…” he muttered, out of breath, head feeling pleasantly light. 

It took him a moment to come down from his high, panting as his vision refocused into reality. Right, he needed to clean up, he thought, using a dirty shirt to wipe himself off. He sighed to himself, letting his mind wander. 

His professor, huh? That was a first, Linhardt thought as he pulled the covers up to his neck as he snuggled in for a nice long nap.

A short distance away at Linhardt’s door, a fist had stopped mid-knock. It’s owner wore a shocked expression as a deep rouge covered the normally stoic man’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was interesting, never written smut like that before. All my previous smut has had at least two characters participating. If you have the time please let me know what you think, or any advice for the future.  
As always thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it.


	4. Who you gonna call? Ferdinand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Why is Linhardt’s canon dislike of ghosts never addressed in game?  
Also Me: *cracks knuckles* Ok whose ready for an existential crisis at 3AM?

The dining hall was always so bright and vibrant, even when the weather outside was not. Lighting cracked across the sky, punctuating his thoughts as he untied his hair to wring it out. He felt like a drowned rat. And he was cold. Why was rainwater always so cold, he wondered shivering. 

He had been on his way to the library, taking the long route that would allow him to check on some plants in the greenhouse, when he heard thunder begin to roll. He paid it no mind and promptly went back to tending a group of small flowering plants. The rain followed soon after. Listening to the soft ting of the drops on the greenhouse roof was one of the most relaxing feelings in the world. Linhardt finished his gardening before curling up in a corner with the pillow he had stashed there. This was peace, serenity, perfect. The droplets created beautiful lullabies with every patter against the glass as Linhardt began to doze off. 

He was rudely awakened by the greenhouse keeper gently nudging his boots with her shoe. His eyes slowly fluttered open, looking up at the woman above him.

“Sorry kiddo, the greenhouse is closing for the storm.” She smiled sadly, “Guards said something about high winds and all this glass being a bad combination.” She finished offering her hand to help the student up. He took it before slowly standing and giving her a quizzical look,

“Wait, so the greenhouse is closed for the storm, but there aren’t any buildings connected to it.” Linhardt commented looking around the interior for a suitable path out.

“If you wanna avoid getting drenched I’d recommend booking it to the dining hall.” A gruff voice said from the main doorway. Linhardt turned to see two familiar guards giving him a pensive look. That was Stace and… oh, what was his name? Whatever, it didn’t matter, Linhardt thought crossing his arms. 

“Normally I’d let you stay, but they saw you sleeping and said they wouldn’t leave until you did.” The keeper whispered as she pat Linhardt’s shoulder, leading him towards the guards.

“You seem awfully concerned about my safety,” Linhardt said cocking his head, “Especially considering your bosses are quite content to send us into bloody battle, but apparently a little wind and glass is where you draw the line.” 

“That’s right!” Stace cheered, winking at Linhardt with an overly joyous expression, “Now run along little scholar!” She ordered clasping the back of Linhardt’s shirt, spinning him towards the exit, and pushing him outside. 

“You think you could have been more gentle with the kid?” The Linhardt heard the other guard ask.

“Do you know how much of a liability it would be to have a student in this decrepit pile of manure during a storm?” She asked gesturing at the greenhouse, “Besides Dave, our job is to protect the monastery, not these brats who live in it.”

Brilliant. Absolutely, brilliant. Rhea really did a brilliant job of hiring competent guards, Linhardt thought as he slowly made his way to the dining hall. 

One of the kitchen staff had been handing out blankets which Linhardt took with a grateful smile before drying his hair and clothes to the best of his ability. He was still cold, but he wasn’t shivering anymore. He draped the blanket over his shoulders and walked up to another member of the dining staff, ordering whatever the special was, and hoping it was something warm. He apparently wasn’t the only one who had this idea and by the time he actually got his food the hall was packed and a low din of voices permeated the room. 

“Linhardt!” He thought he heard his name over the incessant sounds. He scanned the tables before he saw a familiar ginger waving at him. Ferdinand, what does he want? Linhardt thought, as he walked over to his friend who appeared to be eating with an eclectic group of students. Ferdinand was sitting next to Mercedes who appeared to be discussing soup recipes across the table with Ashe. Claude had also joined them and appeared to be contently sitting next to Ashe. That wasn’t good. What was he planning? Linhardt laid his plate down next to Mercedes before greeting his peers and sitting down. 

“So Lin,” Claude began, leaning back in his seat, “How was your impromptu bath?” Of course he knew about that. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Linhardt replied shaking his head, “I was unconscious for most of it.” 

“Oh dear! Are you feeling well?” Mercedes gasped before reaching out to feel Linhardt’s forehead. Why did people always do that? He didn’t have a fever, not with this weather, Linhardt thought as a droplet of water ran down the back of his neck. 

“How did you get knocked out?” Ferdinand asked excitedly, “Were you nobly saving someone who fell in?” 

“I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.” Ashe added, giving him a concerned look. If only his research got this much attention, he thought shaking his head,

“I was pulled in by a fish.” 

Perhaps he could fall in the pond while he was reading a book on crests. No, that wouldn’t work. And he would hurt the book. Maybe he could carve a crest into the fruit in the greenhouse and… you know, he should probably just leave the scheming to Claude. He wasn’t very good at it. 

“A fish?” Claude laughed, “Why not just let go of the pole? You must have really wanted that thing.” 

“A noble never gives up!” Ferdinand cut in, “Even when we are outmatched the cream will always rise to the top.” He added proudly with an exaggerated gesture. 

“So does a layer of scum.” Claude finished with an even tone, his voice barely audible over the sound of other conversations. Despite his words, he wore the same contented, fake, smile.

Claude was easy to read. No. No, that was wrong. He was easy to read in broad strokes, predictable in his unpredictability. He was a wildcard, but he was a known wildcard, always planning, always scheming, always so… busy. Linhardt yawned, type A personalities were exhausting. 

“What did the professor say about your injury?” Ashe asked cocking his head to the side with a thoughtfully concerned look, “He seemed worried about you.”

“Worried?” Ferdinand laughed, “Last night he said he was planning to check on you, and later I saw him walking around like he’d seen a ghost.” 

“A ghost?!” Ashe asked, his face growing pale. Ferdinand shot him a look,

“It’s a figure of—“

“Of course,” Claude interrupted smiling coyly, “our dear professor must have run into one of the many ghosts that haunt this monastery.” He drew out the word ‘ghost’ in a ridiculously unbelievable fashion that made Linhardt roll his eyes.

“Oh our poor professor!” Mercedes cried, holding her hands to her heart.

“Our poor professor indeed,” Claude added, now on a roll, “You know if we really cared about him we would stop that naughty ghost. Then force it to leave."

Claude must take us for idiots. There is no way that anyone would fall for such an obvious trick.

“You’re right! It is our noble duty to protect the professor. We have to go catch that ghost!”

Hook, line, and sinker… Linhardt closed his eyes in disbelief, this was ridiculous, even for him. Linhardt looked at his empty plate. He should probably leave before he gets roped into this.

“I’m going to go take a nap.” He announced scooting his chair back.

“Come on Linhardt don’t you want to go hunt a ghost?” Claude asked with a mischievous grin. Though, thinking about it, every grin Claude made was mischievous. 

“No.” Linhardt replied simply. Looking to Ashe to defend his disinterest. Where was Ashe? The seat where he had been was empty and his plate was gone. He must have snuck out when the conversation turned ghoulish. Smart move. 

“I love ghost stories Ferdinand. I’ll join you. I would love to have one of my own to tell.” Mercedes confessed, excitedly looking at the man beside her.

“See, Mercedes is going. Are you really going to be a coward and not escort her?” Ferdinand asked playfully. Linhardt shook his head staring at Ferdinand,

“Yes. I am a complete coward. I certainly have nothing better to do than to waste my time. Precious time that I could spend napping.” Linhardt sighed grabbing his plate.

“Don’t you think you should go?” Mercedes asked, “I mean, he was on his way to check on you.” 

“That’s his choice. His choices have no reflection or relevance to me.” Linhardt huffed looking away from his peers. He honestly had predicted that particular guilt trip to come from Claude. But at least he had predicted it.

“Are you scared of ghosts or something?” Claude asked with an amused expression, his interest appearing peaked.

“No. I just don’t understand why so many people waste their time on them.” 

It wasn’t that he was scared of ghosts. His dislike, more than anything, was due to the fact that there was nothing _ to _ like about them, as a concept. People who mourn to appease the dead live in the past. People who try to find ghosts are living in the future, unable to come to terms with oblivion and looking for any alternative. He would rather live in this present. The here and the now. Spending energy on anything else was a waste. 

“You're interested in crests, right?” Claude asked, giving Linhardt a pointed look, “Why not come along to see if Ferdinand or Mercedes’ crests react in strange and fascinating ways in the presence of a ghost?” He finished, before standing up and addressing the group, “I hope you get lucky on your ghost hunt tonight. Unfortunately, I already have plans so I can’t join you.” He finished with a wink before walking, though it really looked more like sauntering, over to a pink-haired girl in ponytails. What was her name again? Linhardt watched the pair as the girl appeared to giggle and Claude shot occasional glances back at the table. 

“The only crest research I’ll see is when Claude jumps out of the bushes to scare us…” Linhardt mumbled before standing.

“Us? Wait. So you’ll join us?!” Ferdinand cheered, rising to drape an arm over Linhardt’s shoulders, “Oh such a team we will make. I doubt Edelgard would feel this brave and courageous as she prepared to face down a ghost.”

“Oh for the love of—I’m going to go take a nap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience. I haven't played the GD route yet so I apologize if Claude is out of character.


	5. Byleth’s Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth’s POV. 
> 
> Also contains nsfw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okie, less of a wait for this chapter. Author is back and somewhat inspired to actually continue this story.
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: I rearranged this chapter and the previous one. So what was chapter 5 is now chapter 6.
> 
> Enjoy.

Byleth was normally a level-headed man, calm in an emergency and the first to take action in a crisis. It was this trait that had made him a good mercenary. In his past life, if someone he found attractive showed interest in him, he would inevitably have them by the end of the night. Life was too short, consequences were non-existent, and nobody faulted a little bit of pleasure to sweeten a life of wandering and killing. 

But this was unfamiliar territory. The certainty, and clarity of his path forward were as amorphous and unfathomable as the pond had been that night. Watching the young man cast his line with such a peaceful smile, not one of sleepiness or boredom that normally crossed his lips, but a genuine contented smile that made him feel… happy. 

He wasn’t the same cold hearted man who had earned the title Ashen Demon. If any of his former coworkers saw him they may accuse him of becoming soft, but he would argue that his students gave him something his life had been lacking: People he could care about, friends and allies that he could love and protect, not for money or fame, but because of some strange sense of duty that had grown within him.

It was this same sense of duty that was now causing him problems.

_ Please! Byleth please give me more. _

The pleading voice echoed in his head. He could try to rationalize what he heard, deny it completely and pretend he had not heard one of his students moaning his name in the middle of the night. But denial never served anyone in the end. He had seen plenty of mercenaries deny their feelings for one another, and then end up as broken, despondent, creatures when one of them inevitably met their fate. He had witnessed too many turn to drink to escape from the horrors of their lives then refuse to see the horror they inflicted upon others. He had witnessed brave men refuse to see the wisdom of strangers, remaining blind to their fates until they could bury their heads no more. They had no head left to bury in some cases. There was a difference between temperance and denial. He must recognize both problems, and opportunities when they arise, and proceed to act thoughtfully and decisively. 

First there was the observation: One of his students wanted to have sex with him. Next step was to form an actionable idea or assess other factors in play: 

What did  _ he _ want?

Byleth would like to say that he had never seen Linhardt as anything more than one of his students. Perhaps he had asked him to tea more times than his classmates, or given him a bit more gifts, or spoken more often with the green-haired teen. But that just meant that they were close, not that he had developed other feelings for him. Linhardt didn't have a sultry air about him or an awkward yet endearing affect when he interacted with Byleth, both were methods his previous lovers had employed to show their interest. Linhardt just seemed aloof. Honestly, if Byleth hadn’t heard him moaning his name so reverently he would have probably just continued assuming Linhardt was asexual. And while that was still a possibility, he was beginning to doubt his previous assessment of his sleepy student. 

Unfortunately, now he couldn’t stop imagining the scene that was hidden behind the door that night. Linhardt spread out on his bed, his untied hair forming a stunning green halo under him. His normally impassive face was now pinched in focus as he forced a third finger into his greedy hole. His body tenses at the intrusion, the stretch greater than he is used to. He lets his other hand trail down his chest, jumping at the sensation as his fingers ghost over a nipple before continuing to their prize. He slowly palms himself, his hips raising off the bed as his fingers push further inside. 

_ More! _

He pleads, as he grips his cock tightly to prevent himself from coming undone too soon. His thighs are shaking from the effort of keeping his legs open and exposed, the pleasure becoming too much for him. His eyes screw shut as he begins fucking up into his hand as his fingers press in deep. Suddenly his whole body tenses as a broken cry springs from his lungs, Byleth’s name on his lips some perverse rapture. 

Byleth placed a hand on the wall to steady himself, surprised at his own thoughts. He needed to relax and think this through. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe he could ask Reha for some of the herbs she had him deliver to the students. Byleth shifted, his pants uncomfortable, as answer to his musing ‘what does  _ he _ want’.

“Well hello Byleth. What brings you to the cathedral?” 

Byleth could feel the tension in his shoulders flare as his eyes went wide, his hand instinctively finding its place on his sword before spinning around, his eyes focused and calm, ready for a fight. 

“Are you feeling alright Byleth?” Hanneman asked, standing outside his office with a note in his hand. In that moment Byleth was thankful for his heavy, layered clothing and ability to keep a straight face. He would have still preferred to be alone in the hallway.

“I am fine.”

“Of course. What brings you here? Were you interested in learning about your crest or were you looking for something?” Hanneman asked, concern seeping into his voice. He must have looked like a mess, or at least like he was hiding something. Byleth shook his head, letting his stance relax. 

“Alright.” Hanneman replied looking Byleth up and down, “Well if you are looking for a place to be alone, feel free to use my office. I am off on a supply run,” He said gesturing to the note in his hand, “I also have a date so I won’t be back until morning.” He added, giving Byleth a pointed look.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Though feel free to come by sometime and we can talk more about your crest.” Hanneman finished before making his way to the stairwell. That seemed like a fair exchange, not that he had much choice in the matter. Byleth glanced at the open doorway of the crest scholars office. He could rest and hide here, then go back to his room when it was later and nobody would be out. 

Byleth walked into the room, grabbing both of the doors and locking them behind him. This wasn’t home, or a place he necessarily felt safe, but it was a place that nobody would expect to find him. He scanned the walls for books to keep him occupied, selecting a few tomes that looked interesting and placing them on the coffee table before plopping down on the adjacent loveseat. He relaxed into the cushions, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders and back. This certainly beat pacing around the monastery. Byleth pulled his legs up to the space next to him, laying on his back and letting his feet drape over the armrest. A little break would do him some good. He turned to look at the stack of books, plucking up the top one and examining it. It was a thin volume etched with gold leaf and a faded blue color. The title claimed that the book was about the history of crests, each chapter going over each noble house and their lineage. Linhardt would probably enjoy it, he thought as he examined its spine. Byleth had never seen his student’s eyes light up more than when he was talking about crests. If he was truly interested in the subject, he should just ask him. Byleth shook his head, setting the book face down on the table before throwing his arm over his eyes.

No matter the distraction, when he was alone his thoughts always seemed to circle back to the green-haired healer. He never saw it as a problem before, Linhardt was his student after all. It was normal for him to be concerned about his well being. But when his thoughts began to turn to Linhardt’s silky locks, beautiful big eyes, and plush lips, his thoughts became… uncomfortable. Linhardt was probably only a bit younger than him, but more than that, he was his student. He was entrusted with the responsibility of leading and protecting his students, helping them learn and grow into confident young adults, not playing favorites, and certainly not lusting over one of them.

Having any sort of relationship with him would be a violation of trust and his ethical duty as a professor. Not only that but Linhardt was the heir to his house, and a crest bearer, taking him for himself would be stealing the opportunity for him to find a noble spouse. It could be just sex but… a pang of jealousy shot through him as he remembered some of the things he had heard. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on Linhardt’s conversations but he seemed to come onto everyone, not in the way Sylvain did but in a much more… worrisome way.

It seemed like he didn’t care who he dated or even ended up marrying, he would ask anyone with a pulse if they were interested. It frustrated Byleth to no end to see him act this way, Linhardt should be his, if he was to be anyone’s. Byleth sighed, sinking further into the couch. He didn’t have the right, nor was it ethical for him to even bring up his feelings. 

Byleth’s dick seemed to disagree. He was still half hard from his previous imaginings. He shouldn’t. But there was no real harm in indulging if the only one he was hurting was himself. There was no harm in a little fantasy and he refused to feel guilty about or repress his feelings. At the end of the day, the only person whose judgment he had to live with was his own. 

Byleth palmed himself through his pants, letting out a sigh as he lifted his tunic though to slip his fingers under his waistband. He closed his eyes imagining Linhardt on his hands and knees in front of him, looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes. Byleth tangled his hand in green hair, pulling the ribbon free as he teased the smooth trestles. Linhardt let out a gasp when the grip tightened before leading his head further down. Linhardt went willingly, his tongue parting his lips as he gave the tip of Byleth’s cock a slow languid lick. 

Byleth whimpered lightly, digging his thumb into his slit, loving the intense feeling shooting through his body before continuing to roughly pump himself. Behind his eyes Linhardt’s head was bouncing up and down, drawing pleasure from his warm mouth and the occasional scrape of teeth. He was so close, precum leaking from his head as he imagined Linhardt’s gaze rising to meet his own. The sight of his eyes, as vast and deep as any ocean juxtaposed with the cock forcing itself through parted lips made Byleth come right there, letting out a low groan as ropes of cum painted his hand. In his mind Linhardt sat before him, cum dripping from his face as he licked at it with a smirk. Byleth’s hips jumped again, causing him to hiss at the overstimulation. 

Eventually his eyes cracked open, observing the mess he made of himself. He would have to clean up, but for now he needed a nap. Besides he had all night, nobody would come knocking on Hanneman’s door until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking a break from the current timeline and established POV, but I really wanted to explore Byleth’s take on the whole experience. And let’s be honest, Linhardt would be shit at describing Byleth’s feelings.  
I hope the smut makes up for my digression ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author would like to blame the unreliable narrator for this chapter. But to be fair, author is pretty unreliable as well.
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: Chapter 5 and 6 have changed places.

Why was he nervous? There wasn’t any reason to be nervous. Nervousness was living in the future and he firmly refused to live anywhere but the present; the here and the now. Linhardt sighed, fear was a waste of energy, he thought as he knocked on his professor’s door. He never thanked Byleth for saving him and if he had become sick on his way to visit, all guilt tripping aside, he was partially responsible. And Limhardt was a healer, if Byleth was sick then he could not only repay his professor’s kindness, but also get the see the effects of Byleth’s crest on the healing process. It would be nice to study this effect outside the battlefield.

“If you’re looking for your professor…” an older-sounding voice spoke behind him, causing him to jump. He wasn’t a skittish person. Why was he acting this way? Linhardt turned to see Hanneman giving him a curious look.

“Are you feeling alright Linhardt? I heard about your tumble into the pond.” He asked looking the student up and down. Did everyone know about that?

“I am feeling quite well. Thank you,” Linhardt replied instinctually as he forced a smile, “Do you happen to know where Professor Byleth is?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, he is in my office,” Hanneman recalled, “When he arrived I had hoped that meant he was interested in discussing his crest. Unfortunately it seemed like something was bothering him, a rare display of emotion from that man to be sure,” Hanneman looked up at Linhardt before continuing, “I had asked him if there was something he wished to discuss but he only shook his head and busied himself examining my books. I don’t think he was even looking for something to read, just something to distract himself.” 

“Why would he do that?” Linhardt pondered aloud.

“I couldn’t tell you. But he clearly wanted to be left alone. When I informed him I was about to head to town and wouldn’t be back until late he seemed genuinely happy. I would have felt insulted if I had been a lesser man,” Hanneman paused looking thoughtful, “If you ask me, he only showed up in my office to avoid other people.” 

Byleth was trying to avoid people? Now Linhardt had to go check on him. He had to make sure he was alright. Oh, and if Byleth was in Hanneman’s office, he might be able to convince him to let him see his crest on the scanner. 

“Alas, I must be off before it gets too late,” the elder researcher commented gesturing at the sky, now a strange purple-orange color with the setting sun, “But even then I doubt I will make it back before morning,” he muttered to himself before focusing on Linhardt, “it’s not safe to walk around at night.”

How was the night unsafe? The scariest thing he could possibly run into tonight would be Claude running around with a bed sheet over his head. That itself wasn’t scary. The idea of him accidentally running into a wall at full speed and Linhardt being forced to drag the Golden Deer to the infirmary, was scary. Linhardt gave the other scholar a wry smile, hoping that would suffice as a response before turning on his heels to head to Hanneman’s office.

***

This door had never been closed before, Linhardt thought as he stared at the now blocked entrance to Hanneman’s office. If Byleth was trying to go unnoticed, such an obvious divergence from the norm was not the way to do it. Linhardt slowly appraised the strange double doors in front of him. He hadn’t even known this room possessed a door, let alone two large wooden ones. He only paused for a second, refusing to let his nerves get the best of him, before he gave the door a couple light knocks. He heard a surprised gasp followed by shuffling from inside. A few seconds later he heard the sound of a couple books hitting the floor. Books always had a unique sound to them, he thought to himself. When they shut quickly, that ‘whoop’ followed by the rush of air that seemed to always send paper particles in his eyes and nose. That ‘thump’ as they hit a hollow table, the pages jostling as the cover jumps up slightly before coming to a rest on the other pages. That glorious cracking sound as one opens up a new book for the first time or—

“What are you doing?” Byleth was staring at him, holding one of the doors open just enough to stick his head out. Linhardt cocked his head to the side,

“I was thinking about the sound of books.”

Byleth blinked, staring at the student in front of him with a face somewhere between dumbfounded and distrust. Linhardt blinked, staring back with a matching expression, taking the opportunity to examine his professor. Byleth looked, frazzled. It was a strange word to describe such a normally stony-faced man but it was true. His hair was frizzier than usual, what he could see of his clothing was awkwardly askew like he suddenly forgot how to dress himself properly, his pupils were blown to the point of completely hiding his irises, and his face was noticeably redder, creating an interesting contrast between his normally pale skin and dark blue hair. 

He must be ill. That was the only conclusion given Byleth’s current state. Illness would also explain why he was hiding away: he didn’t want anyone else to get sick. 

Byleth sighed, appearing to begrudgingly accept Linhart’s answer but refused to move from his position blocking the door,

“Hanneman is out for the day,” he said, giving Linhardt an expectant look.

“I am aware professor,” Linhart replied, shaking his head, “I was looking for you”

Byleth’s eyes widened slightly but his face remained otherwise impassive.

Linhardt continued,

“I had heard that you fell ill on your way to check on me, regarding my pond experience. To which I can assure you I am feeling quite alright,” Linhardt smiled, “So it’s really only fitting that I make sure that you’re doing well.” 

“I can assure you that I am fine.” Byleth paused, appearing to want to say more but let his words die into empty breath. In the silence they could clearly hear the telltale clomp of shoes on stone slowly getting closer. They both turned to look towards the stairwell seeing a man with neatly trimmed purple hair. Lorenz. He was the last person Linhardt wanted to see right now. He didn’t want to hear about how Lorenz was going to lead the Alliance one day and all the responsibility and sacrifice that would entail. And of course the only one capable of bearing such a heavy paper crown is the lavender-haired man himself. Truly he was  _ such _ a king, even among the nobles he thought so highly of. Ugh, he didn’t need a lecture about the superiority of nobles and how Linhardt should feel like a disappointment to not only himself but his entire house for his lax attitude and penchant for naps. Ferdinand was tiring enough, but at least Ferdinand had some redeeming qualities.

The good news was that the pompous blowhard appeared to be engrossed in fixing his fake rose rather than where he was walking or who he was approaching. 

“I hope he trips.” Byleth stated deadpan. Linhardt’s head snapped over to the normally composed professor, shocked at his response. Oh, that’s right, didn’t Byleth have to tell Lorenz to stop harassing the women in his class? No wonder Byleth didn’t get along with him. Still, if Linhardt stayed where he was, he would end up roped into a conversation with a person they mutually disliked. He gave his professor a pleading look,

“Please let me inside professor,” Linhardt implored, leaving ‘I don’t want to be stuck out here with  _ him  _ unspoken.’ Byleth hesitated for a moment, seeming to weigh his options before glancing behind him and backing up just enough for Linhardt to slip through, hearing Byleth let out a sigh before shutting the doors behind him. Linhardt let his eyes explore the room, coming to a rest on a collection of books now scattered on the floor. He did know what books sounded like after all, he thought to himself smugly. Byleth glanced over at his student before following his gaze to the mess on the floor. Silently he walked over, picking up the reading material and placing them in an orderly stack on the table. Part of Linhardt wanted to offer to help, but he also really didn’t. Byleth was acting weird and he didn’t want to step on his toes. Instead Linhardt made his way to the window, staring at the twinkling sky. He watched a flock of bats who appeared to be hunting as they dived and swooped across the shimmering canvas. The feral cats occasionally leaped at some of the creatures who dared to fly too low, but he only saw one actually catch its prey. He watched as the feline’s back legs propelled it in the air before grasping the creature and landing elegantly on its feet. The other cats watched the successful hunter, stalking closer before it bolted, setting off a chain reaction of cats who almost ran into two students standing outside an old decrepit house. 

Of course Ferdinand would insist on actually going ghost hunting, and of course Mercedes would join him. He couldn’t hear their conversation but Ferdinand appeared to by psyching himself up while Mercedes nodded supportively. He watched as Ferdinand stretched his arms one last time before confidently striding towards the house, Mercedes close behind. 

Linhardt turned to Byleth who was putting the last of the books into orderly stacks,

“The other students told me something happened last night” Linhardt explained, watching as Byleth looked over at him crossing his arms, “they said you ‘looked like you saw a ghost.’ So Ferdinand and Mercedes are currently ghost hunting.” Byleth snorted, shaking his head to avoid Linhardt’s gaze, 

“I just heard something,” Byleth paused, seeming to search for the right word, “unexpected,” he finished. He heard something strange? Perhaps his crest allowed him to hear voices. Before he could ask, a muffled scream tore across the night air. Linhardt’s eyes snapped to the window just in time to see Ferdinand flying out of the house like a bat out of hells. Mercedes followed soon after, her hands clasped over her mouth with an expression that could only be described as ‘amused.’ 

Linahrdt felt a presence next to him, looking over to see Byleth intently watching the sight before them. He hadn’t heard to man walk over, which in itself was slightly unnerving. But given how much subtly was valued for keeping a mercenary alive, he shouldn’t be surprised. 

About a minute later Claude and Hilda emerged from the house appearing infinitely pleased with themselves. Claude was holding his knees, clearly trying to catch his breath as he laughed while Hilda snickered holding a creepy looking mask. 

“Do I even want to know?” Byleth asked, crossing his arms as he turned his gaze over to Linhardt. 

“Ferdinand said he thought you ran into a ghost on your way to visit me last night,” Linhardt replied, pausing to watch Claude turn back towards the house with his hands placed victoriously on his hips,

“So Claude convinced him to go fight a ghost.”

Byleth stared off into space, the gears turning in his head,

“That… that doesn’t even make sense.” He concluded looking at Linhardt for further explanation. 

“Well perhaps it would be more accurate to say Ferdinand saw you walking around last night ‘like you saw a ghost’” Linhardt paused, “You know, the expression? And I don’t know how he turned it into actual ghost hunting… Claude, he…” Linhardt trailed off. Ugh, this was giving him a headache. Maybe he underestimated the Golden Deer houseleader’s schemes. Byleth hummed, seeming to understand. They had been had. Even Linhardt who was uninvolved had been tricked. 

Suddenly they heard a muffled crash from outside, focusing on the old house just in time to see a shadow dart across an open window of the supposedly empty building. Claude stumbled backward tripping over his own feet as he raced away from the view in front of him. Hilda watched Claude round a corner before glancing back at the house and shaking her head before slinging the mask over her head and walking away. The situation would have been funny but as soon as Hilda was out of view an eerie light began to glow inside the house. Linhardt looked at Byleth who was intently staring at the light. The door slowly creaked open illuminating a strange silhouette. Linhardt should have been staring at the figure, if he was he would probably have been able to describe it better, but instead he was held captive by the expression on Byleth’s face. His eyes shone in the moonlight, held wide as they took in every detail of the scene. His lips were held in a firm line as his brows slightly furrowed. Concentrating, powerful, perceptive, oh Linhardt would probably melt if that gaze was ever directed at him. Byleth leaned back slightly, his face losing its pensive expression as he questioned,

“What is he doing?” before a small smile graced his lips. Byleth was always so cute when he smiled, it didn’t happen often, but it just… it felt good to see him happy. Byleth turned to glance at Linhardt,

“You seeing this?” He asked, gesturing out the window. 

_ Oh forget whatever is outside, all I want to see is that smile.  _

Byleth blinked, their eyes meeting uncomfortably. He didn’t say that out loud. There was no way he asked that out loud. No, he must have just been acting weird. He should probably just look out the window. 

The figure in the doorway was holding a half burnt candle in one hand with a large sack in the other as something scurried across its torso. 

Oh, Caspar. He must have been feeding the feral cats again. He watched as one of the more adventurous kittens clawed up Caspar’s tunic to his shoulder before resting its head on his light blue hair. It was quite an adorable sight.

“Linhardt—“ Byleth began before being cut off.

“I guess there was no ghost, just Caspar,” Linhardt snorted, watching as Caspar tried to dislodge the new cat crawling up his leg without kicking any of the others swarming around him.

“Lin…”

“Besides, if Caspar was a ghost he would probably be a friendly one. He probably wasn’t the one you ran into before.” He snickered to himself. 

“Linhardt.” Byleth breathed, his tone deadly serious, “last night I didn’t hear a ghost. I heard you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. This chapter didn’t exactly go as planned and my creative energy has been looking more like Death Valley every day.  
Still thank you for reading

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you are enjoying it.


End file.
